


Wins & Losses

by Threshie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Comforting Dean Winchester, Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dead Castiel, Dean Has Self-Worth Issues, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grieving Sam Winchester, Heartbroken Sam Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, Kissing, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, Multi, Podfic Welcome, Poly Vee With Sam Pivot, Sastiel - Freeform, Scents & Smells, Sharing a Bed, Temporary Character Death, Touchy-Feely, Wincest - Freeform, Wincestiel - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-04-25 18:16:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14384301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Threshie/pseuds/Threshie
Summary: A few months after Sam and Castiel start dating, the angel is killed. Still reeling from the loss of his best friend, Dean can’t just sit and watch Sam’s heartbreak slowly pull him away, too.





	1. Familiar

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever fic that could actually be called Wincestiel. As the tags hopefully explained, Cas won't be staying dead in this fic. Sam and Dean don't know that yet, though. Comments and kudos are always appreciated!

Cas is really gone.

Dean’s still reeling from it. His best friend is dead. Not “mysteriously comes back after a few days” dead, “scorched wings and an empty body to burn” dead. They made him a pyre and gave him a hunter’s funeral — he deserves no less. Deserved. Past tense, because he’s gone.

It’s been a week, and the bunker has never been so quiet. Dean keeps turning around and expecting to see Cas. The bunker chairs look empty without him sitting there paging through a book. The coffee pot’s been too full without him taking a cup every morning. There’s no dry, too-literal commentary about whatever Dean’s watching on TV, and there’s no more unexpected smiles at the weirdest things Dean didn’t realize are apparently funnier in Enochian.

There’s a big empty spot in Dean’s life, and it hurts. As awful as he feels, though, he knows Sam has it so much worse.

Sam and Cas had a long talk a few months back, and the next thing Dean had known, they were inseparable. There was no hiding the kind of love they had, and Dean was stunned at how happy it made him to see them so happy. That was all he wanted — for Sam to be happy. To have Cas just as happy, that made it even sweeter. Dean finds his peace in lifting up the people he loves, and his family is who he loves the most. 

And now it’s all broken.

Sam’s barely holding it together. Unlike Dean, he doesn’t bury his feelings, he dwells on them. He didn’t want to burn Cas’s body, held out ‘til the last minute that they could still bring him back somehow, but Dean knew it was over. Angels don’t come back from the Empty. Nothing comes back from the Empty. He was already choking on that fact for his own sake, saying goodbye to his friend, but seeing Sam begging him not to light the pyre was one more stab in his aching heart.

Dean would do anything for Sam. If there was a way to bring Cas back, he would do it. If he had to go instead… 

It was impossible, though, and he had to look his brother in the eyes that day and say so. That was the moment when they both broke. Dean hadn’t seen Sam cry like that in years, so hard it made Dean cry, too. He could cry with Sam, but he couldn’t really make it better. 

They lit the pyre together in the end.

Dean tells himself that he needs to give Sam time, but what Sam really needs is his angel. He’s not sleeping, barely eating. He has no interest in reading or work, just sits in Cas’s favorite chair in the library all day, or in his room, hugging one of the shirts that still smells like him. 

That’s where Dean finds him today. He’s not even in bed, he’s sitting on the floor in front of the open closet door. Sam is holding Castiel’s white dress shirt, the fabric spotted with tears, and he’s finally so exhausted that he’s fallen asleep. 

Dean can’t describe the feelings that well in his chest at the sight. What if Sam gives up? What if he lost Cas and now he loses Sam? It’s his job to take care of his brother, always has been, and he knows there is no way he could have saved Cas, but it still falls on him to save Sam.

Kneeling beside his brother, Dean touches his shoulder gently. No response. Sam is out like a light, too exhausted even to snore. There are still wet tracks of tears on his cheeks. Dean’s heart squeezes again, and he swallows hard, slowly wiping the tears away. Sam does stir at the touch on his face. Dean smooths his unbrushed hair back away from his face next, and Sam blinks sleepily, looking up at him. The second of hope in his hazel eyes is too much.

Cas. He thinks he’s waking up to Cas. 

Dean tries to swallow the lump in his throat at the hurt and desperation that replace that hope, putting his hand on Sam’s shoulder again.

“Hey,” he says gently, “C’mon, you should be in your bed.” 

Sam says nothing, looking down at the floor. He truly doesn’t care if he’s comfortable, Dean is sure. It’s the only thing Dean can do to help, though, and he needs to help. He needs to do something. Sam is hurting so much, and he feels so useless. 

Dean nods and gets to his feet again, tugging on Sam’s hands to try and get him to follow. He’s too heavy to just carry to bed.

“C’mon, Sammy,” he encourages, “Bedtime.”

Sam doesn’t look up, but his hands close tightly around Dean’s, clinging to them. 

“I can’t, Dean.” He sounds hoarse, his voice breaking in the middle.

“Sure you can,” Dean says, fighting not to sound as upset as he is. He needs Sam to be okay, or he isn’t. How can he expect that, though? He can’t. Sam has a right to grieve. Dean’s grieving, too, but his way of dealing is taking care of others. 

His brother looks back at the bed, with its rumpled blankets, and a thought occurs to Dean. Maybe it’s like the shirt — maybe the bed still smells like Cas, reminds Sam of Cas. Maybe it feels wrong to sleep alone now. 

“Not that bed,” he interprets, and he’s relieved when Sam nods his head. He understands, he can help. Tugging at Sam’s hands again, Dean promises, “That’s okay, Sammy. How ‘bout my bed? Would you sleep there?”

Sam has slept near Dean most of his life, in motel rooms or Baby’s bench seats mostly. Besides Sam’s stint at Stanford, the bunker is actually the longest time they’ve slept in different rooms. It felt a little lonely for Dean when they started that, but later when Sam was so happy to have a place of his own to share with Cas…

Cas. There goes another stab in Dean’s heart. He misses his friend. He misses Sam and Cas, them together, smiling so that he could smile, too.

Maybe being near Dean will let Sam sleep. Maybe a bed that smells like leather and pie and Dean’s shampoo might comfort him.

“Okay,” Sam whispers, dragging his thoughts back to the present. He’s pushing himself to his feet, still clinging tight to Dean’s hands. When he’s standing, though, he just clings to Dean and waits there. It’s like he doesn’t have the heart to leave the room without help.

Dean steps slowly toward the door, leading Sam along by the hand.

“Okay,” he echoes Sam, softly like he might break some kind of spell. They’re two grown men, but they walk down the hallway to Dean’s room hand in hand like they’re kids again. Dean’s done this so many times when they were younger. He’d hold Sam’s hand when they crossed the street, when they were both scared Dad wasn’t coming back this time and Dean had to be the brave one… 

When Sam told him he loved Cas. 

He’d been scared then, too. He was scared to ruin their friendship, and Dean sat with him and talked it over. He felt like he did right by Sam there, because his brother went and sat Cas down for that long talk after that.

There’s a jab of guilt again, that Sam and Cas might not have been so happy if Dean hadn’t encouraged them, but Sam also wouldn’t be slipping away from him now. Was it worth it for the few months that they’d had?

That’s a selfish thought, and Dean instantly regrets it. Cas struggled for his entire existence to find happiness and acceptance, and Sam gave that to him. At least he’d died happy. And Sam, Sam had been so happy. Dean can’t wish that away, as if it even makes a difference. 

What he can do is try to comfort Sam. He’s here, anything Sam needs, he’s here.

The door clicking closed behind them feels far too loud. Dean ignores it, leading Sam to his bed and getting him to sit on the side. Sam hasn’t bothered to change out of his pajamas in days. He’s got stubble on his face, bags under his eyes, and it’s obvious that he’s been crying his eyes out. Dean doesn’t care. He pulls off his boots and flannel shirt, crawling into the bed in his jeans and T-shirt, and beckons for Sam to join him.

“Climb in.” 

Sam looks across the room at the door that closed behind them, and then back to Dean. Dean wonders if he should’ve just let him have the whole bed, but he thinks maybe Sam will feel better not sleeping by himself right now. Maybe sleeping near Dean will bring some familiar comfort. Maybe, Dean hopes, Sam won’t feel so alone. 

Wordlessly, Sam crawls into the bed and lays down beside him, staring up at the ceiling. His eyes are glistening with fresh tears, and Dean rests a hand on his shoulder, rubbing it gently. He doesn’t know what else to do, so he pulls the blankets up to Sam’s chest and pats his arm again. Sam shudders, and the tears slip down his face. 

Dean feels his own brows pinching sadly. He’s never been able to stand this, seeing Sam in pain.

“I’m right here,” he says, running his fingertips gently over his brother’s shoulder. He wants to hug him, anything to comfort him, but they’re not kids anymore and Sam hasn’t hugged him in bed in their adult lives. It feels like some kind of line, one he might not have a right to cross. 

He’s surprised when the blankets rustle. Sam’s rolling onto his side to face Dean, sliding a hand over to lace their fingers. His breaths are hitching with little sobs.

“I m-miss him, Dean.” 

Dean slides closer, resting his head beside Sam’s on the single pillow. He holds his brother’s hand and watches the tears slip down his cheeks, and it feels worse than dying. 

“I know,” he whispers. “I’d do anything, Sammy…I WILL do anything. Whatever you need.”

Sam meets his eyes finally, and Dean can see the moment his composure crumbles. 

“I need him.” Despite his words, he pushes himself closer, hugging an arm over Dean’s chest, and buries his face in his brother’s shoulder. 

Dean’s struggling with tears of his own. He wraps both arms around Sam and holds him, drawing slow strokes down his back as it quakes with sobs.

“I-I know. And all I’ve got for you is me,” he sniffles. “I’m so sorry, Sammy.” He knows he’s not enough. He’s not what Sam needs. Why couldn’t it be him that died? Cas and Sam could’ve comforted each other instead of leaving Sam so alone… 

Sam curls closer, shoving up against Dean’s side until he’s half laying on top of his chest. He clings to his brother like a lifeline, and Dean does everything he can to offer any comfort. He pets Sam’s hair. He rubs Sam’s back. In a moment of weakness, to comfort himself as well as his brother, Dean nuzzles his face close and presses a kiss into his hair.

And if that seems strange to Sam, he doesn’t mention it. If anything, he can’t seem to get close enough to Dean. Maybe the familiar scent does help — Sam buries his face in the crook of Dean’s neck and finally quiets, relaxing against him. 

“Shh…” Dean has an arm around his waist, the other slowly combing fingers through his hair again and again. His own tears have dried, and he’s wondering what Sam will say tomorrow. Tonight, in Dean’s arms, he’s finally fallen asleep. Dean’s not Cas, but he’s better than nothing, right? He’s better than being alone.


	2. Here

Dean wakes up alone the next morning. He’s used to that, usually, but this time the absence of Sam is the first thing that he notices. The blankets are folded back on that side of the bed, like his brother got up and just never came back.

A jolt of panic bursts in Dean’s chest. What if Sam doesn’t come back? What if he just…left?

Still groggy, hair mussed from the pillow, Dean crawls out of the bed in his jeans and rumpled T-shirt and hurries out into the hallway.

“Sam! Sam?” He calls, ducking his head into Sam’s room to check for him. It’s dark in there, and Cas’s dress shirt that Sam was clinging to has been placed lovingly folded on the floor in front of the open closet. He’s been here, then. There’s no sign of him now.

Dean continues his mad dash down the bunker hallways, checking the library and the main room next. He hates the implication of tying up loose ends. If Sam left, he would have taken the shirt with him, one of the last few things to remember Cas by. 

He wishes Cas was here right now, so much. What if his attempts to comfort Sam weren’t enough? What if he finds Sam hurt? What if he’s too late, and he stumbles on Sam bleeding on the floor, what if he’s lost them both—

Coffee.

It occurs to him so suddenly he cuts off his own thought to notice. The bunker smells like coffee. Somebody’s made a fresh pot. 

Barely daring to breathe, Dean dashes to the kitchen.

“Sammy!” He’s there sitting at the kitchen table, still in his pajamas, hair still a mess and stubble starting to get to ‘beard’ status on his chin. Right now Dean has never seen anybody so beautiful. His breath sticks in his throat, and when Sam looks up at him with tired, sad eyes, Dean doesn’t say anything. He just rushes over and wraps his brother in a hug.

“Dean…” Exhausted as he looks, Sam manages to sound a little startled to have his head hugged to Dean’s chest. He doesn’t protest, though — even slips his arms up around Dean’s waist and hugs back. “Hey…you okay?”

Dean realizes a few tears have made their way down his cheeks, and he’s sure Sam can feel the way his chest shakes with each breath. He says it anyway, for Sam’s sake.

“Y-yeah, I’m good. I’m good.”

He loosens up his hold around Sam enough to lean back and touch his cheek, studying his face carefully and ignoring the tears.

Sam watches Dean watch him, hazel eyes concerned and pained. 

“You sure?” He asks, carefully not moving his face away from Dean’s hand. He knows this ‘got to check you over, make sure you’re okay’ routine by now.

“You scared me,” Dean admits, mustering a small watery smile. He’s trying to comb the tangles out of Sam’s hair with his fingers, doing his best to get his tears under control. God, he was so scared. Even Dean didn’t realize how scared he’s been of losing Sam until this morning. “Thought you left, or…” He swallows hard, shaking his head. No, he can’t even say that. Just him left…

Sam’s brows pinch sadly, and he swallows, too, nodding.

“Sorry. I, uh. I’ve been a mess,” he admits, looking down at the steaming mug of coffee sitting untouched on the table. “I didn’t think of you, Dean. You…y-you miss him, too.” His voice sounds rough around the edges suddenly. He still can’t really talk about Cas — last night was the most talking he’s done since the funeral. 

Dean turns and takes a seat beside him at the table. He slides a hand over to hold Sam’s, squeezing it tight. He doesn’t care about himself, he really doesn’t. Losing Cas hurts like hell, but watching Sam suffering without him is worse. 

At least Cas died happy. Dean hopes he’s still happy, wherever he is. The Empty is supposed to be nothing, so maybe it’s just what you take there with you. Maybe he’s there with his memories of Sam and their last few months together. That’s the closest an angel can come to going to Heaven, right? Not work-Heaven, afterlife-Heaven.

“I do,” he answers Sam, after what feels like an eternity of sitting in silence. The coffee is still steaming; it can’t have been more than a few minutes. “But as long as you’re still here…” 

He knows Sam is remembering that trailed off sentence, how leaving is not the worst thing Dean has in mind by far. His little brother scoots their chairs closer and pulls Dean into a hug — a proper hug, chests flush, Dean’s nose buried in the collar of his pajama shirt. And Dean doesn’t care that Sam’s been wearing it for days, he needs that hug so damn much right now.

“I’m still here,” Sam promises.  


* * *

  
They still don’t return to work. Sam’s still sitting around the bunker, hugging Cas’s shirts and barely getting through the days. The nights, though… 

Dean doesn’t invite Sam back to his room, and Sam doesn’t talk to him about sleeping in there again. Still, each night they find themselves both returning to Dean’s bed and crawling under the blankets together. Sam doesn’t ask for the familiar comfort of sleeping near his brother, but Dean is happy to provide that anyway. Sam doesn’t ask to be held, either, or to have kisses trailed gently over his eyelids when the day was a rough one — and they’re all rough ones. 

He doesn’t ask for Dean to slip up, and suddenly make a kiss to his cheek into a kiss on his lips. He doesn’t ask, but he doesn’t pull away — he presses back into it, a kind of relief washing over him.

Before Castiel, Sam thought of it sometimes — what it might be like to kiss Dean. It was just another mark on the wall for Sam to count himself as wrong and unclean, and he had promised he’d never act on it, that he could be happy without it. He isn’t even sure what he wants from Dean, maybe just his touch, maybe not even a kiss. He hasn’t let himself dwell on it. He neatly wrapped it up and placed it aside years ago.

With Cas gone, though, and Dean so desperate to comfort him, Sam can feel that old familiar draw to his brother tearing through its pretty wrapping and tumbling out on the floor. He’d tell himself Dean would be disgusted, but Dean is the one who kissed him, not the other way around. And Sam kissed back, and he wants to hate it and feel like it’s a betrayal, but…Cas knew. 

He’d told Cas everything, had the angel read his mind to just KNOW how he felt instead of trying to capture that in words. He’d known about Dean and desires to be closer, and he’d been the same way he was with anything else about Sam: accepting and supportive. Castiel had loved him unconditionally. 

Thoughts of him hurt so much that they pull Sam back to the present. He’s laying on his back on the bed, licking his lips nervously, and Dean is hugged up against his side, an arm around his waist, staring at him with huge, startled green eyes.

Because he kissed his brother, and Sam kissed back. Kissing your brother on the cheek and sleeping curled up with him, that’s extremely, weirdly close, but a kiss on the lips is something else entirely. It’s hard to pretend that’s at all platonic.

Sam stares back at Dean, studying his eyes for any sign of disgust. And there’s none there — just surprise and that same aching need to comfort Sam that has been there ever since Cas’s funeral.

Cas… 

Just the thought of his angel must flash sorrow in Sam’s eyes, because the next thing he knows, Dean’s hand is resting gently on his cheek, and then his brother is kissing him again. It’s not a hesitant kiss, either, but soft — a testing press of lips and little scratch of stubble, no tongue or teeth. 

Dean didn’t lie. He’ll do anything. 

Sam hugs an arm around Dean’s waist and pushes back against his mouth, breathes softly between his lips. They share a breath, and that sense of relief washes over Sam again — relief, and a sad, stinging gratitude to Castiel for never making Sam feel like he was wrong to love Dean like this. Cas had even encouraged him to talk to Dean about it, but Sam had had his angel, so he could still keep those feelings bound and hidden away. He’d thought Dean was better off not knowing. It was better that way. Wasn’t it?

“Sam.” Dean’s whispering his name, and once again he surfaces from a pool of thoughts and sensations. He finds his brother resting his head on the pillow just inches from Sam’s face, watching his expression with no small measure of guilt in his eyes. Sam doesn’t look at him, just scoots closer and buries his face in the corner of Dean’s neck and shoulder.

They’ll have to talk, but not right now. Right now he’s overwhelmed. Memories of Cas, the thought of never kissing Cas again, are ripping through his heart like paper, and he wants to cry. He can’t, though, because there’s that traitorous relief still soaking through him from kissing Dean for the first time. He’s wanted that so long — wanted to try it, wondered if Dean ever wanted it, too. And now he’s done it, and Dean kissed back, and he’s overwhelmed. 

He’s sure Cas wouldn’t be angry. That doesn’t guarantee Sam’s not angry with himself.

He can’t think of the past or the future right now. There’s just too much. Right now, right this second, he’s in bed and Dean’s holding him, drawing slow lines down his back with one hand and combing the other through Sam’s hair. The scents of Dean’s skin and shampoo are wrapped around Sam just like his arms, safe and familiar things. Right now Dean loves him, in whatever way he needs Dean to love him, and that’s all he can face at once. He needs Dean.  


* * *

  
They don’t really talk about it. It’s the same as before, though — each day is a parade of moments that remind them that Cas is gone for good. Sam tries so hard to live without him, and just manages to exist instead. Each night, Dean holds him, kisses him, and each night Sam falls asleep in his arms.

After a few weeks, Sam seems to be getting through the days easier. He’s shaving and brushing his hair again, and forcing himself to nibble on food without Dean having to remind him. As heartbroken as he still is, he’s trying to be okay, for Dean. 

And Dean, Dean is at once grateful he can be enough to help Sam and guilty that he’s doing it this way. He doesn’t mind touching Sam, enjoys having him close. Kissing him was an accident, but then Sam kissed back, so it’s not Sam’s reaction he’s worried about. It’s Castiel’s. Sure, Cas is gone, and Dean lived with and knew Sam long before the angel came along. Cas was so important to Sam, though. He was Dean’s best friend. Just thinking “was” while thinking about that still hurts.

Dean doesn’t want to do things that Cas would be angry at him over. If his friend has any hope of seeing anything from the nothingness of the Empty, Dean hopes he sees that they both miss him and they’re not doing this to dishonor his memory or some bullshit like that. He’s not trying to replace Cas. 

This is not the kind of relationship that Sam and Cas had — it’s just trusting touches and soft kisses, finding comfort in each other. Cas would want Sam to be comforted and able to function again, Dean has to believe that he would. He knows that Sam and Cas had sex — he remembers both fondly and sadly how loud they could be, especially his brother. What he does with Sam isn’t that, and he’s pretty sure neither of them wants it to be that, either.

Cas would understand. He would know that Dean would rather have him back here loving Sam, the way it used to be. Cas is gone, though, and it’s just Sam and Dean again. They’re all the other’s got.


	3. Dreams

Sunlight streams through the motel windows, dappling the bed with the texture of the lacy curtains. Sam is sitting on the edge of the bed, a huge leather bound book resting open across his legs. The scent of freshly cut grass drifts in on the breeze as he thumbs slowly through the book, admiring the intricate sigils on each page. 

“It’s beautiful, Cas.” He smiles at the angel. “Thank you.” 

Standing by the open window, Castiel looks ethereal with the sun reflecting in his blue eyes. His dark hair is ruffled gently by the moving air from outside. The ever-present trench coat flaps a little in the breeze as well.

Sam’s smile drifts away, and he watches with wonder as this amazing celestial creature, this beautiful angel, steps over and smiles almost shyly in return. 

“You’re welcome. You seem well, Sam.” 

“Of course,” Sam says, setting the book aside and pulling Cas closer to loop both arms around his waist. He rests his head on the angel’s chest and listens to his steady heart, sighing. “Because you’re here.”

Fingers brush slowly through his hair, and he can feel the rumble of Cas’s voice against his ear when he speaks.

“Yes, but I haven’t been. I’m sorry for that, Sam.” Sam sits up and looks up at him, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembers that Castiel is gone. Dead. The perfect sunlight and the angel in his arms, they’re just a dream, aren’t they? He’s talking to a ghost.

For some reason, his dreaming mind is perfectly at ease with that. Cas is dead, of course he’s dead. That’s how it is. It doesn’t occur to him that this should be disturbing. He just leans against the angel’s chest again and closes his eyes, holding him tight. He’s dead, but he’s here. The rest doesn’t matter, because he’s here.

“I missed you,” he murmurs, closing his eyes. Cas is the most wonderful ghost he’s ever met. He feels solid and warm, smells like only Cas smells, and his fingers are still tracing gently through Sam’s hair. 

“I’m sorry,” Cas says again, very sadly. Sam can still feel his heart beating slow and steady. “I’ll find you.” 

Find him? But he’s already right here. 

Sam blinks his eyes open, and he’s in a darkened room. The scents of cut grass and Castiel have been replaced by laundry detergent, leather…Dean’s aftershave. In the dimness of the bedroom, Sam can just make out his brother’s hand the moment before it comes to rest on his hair. 

“Hey…” Dean’s voice is soft against Sam’s shoulder. They fell asleep hugged closer, but Sam must have moved away during his dream. Maybe when he was reaching for Cas. 

“Cas…”

There’s this aching emptiness in Sam’s chest now. There’s so much he wants to do one more time with Cas — kiss him. Make him laugh. Instead, his dream self was carefree and barely did anything, and it feels like one more thing lost. Angels don’t become ghosts, though, and it wasn’t real anyway. Cas is beyond their reach.

Still, Sam can’t help reacting like it was real. He shivers and tries to swallow the lump forming in his throat. He could have said goodbye, could have said ‘I love you’…

“Shh, okay,” Dean murmurs, the words cutting through a flood of regrets Sam could drown in. “I’m here, Sammy.” Sam blinks back tears and scoots closer to his brother, who is already petting at his hair and the back of his neck. 

They’re silent for a moment, and then Dean asks softly, “Nightmare?”

“Dream,” he whispers back hoarsely, resting his head on his brother’s chest. It’s so close to how he was with Cas in the dream, but Dean’s different — he smells different, feels different. 

He’s still here. 

The guilt at that last thought weighs on Sam. Cas didn’t want to go. He’s dead because of them — because he loved them, especially Sam, and wouldn’t let that thing they were facing touch his human family. He went down swinging — he took it with him — but it wasn’t a fair trade by any means.

It’s been three weeks, and it’s still hard to even say Castiel’s name without tears. It just hurts so much. Cas is…was…a part of his life every day. They’d done almost everything together, usually with Dean cheerfully waving them on. Without Dean’s help, Sam isn’t sure how he would have made it this far.

He hates how he’s pulling his brother down into his grief. Dean will never leave him, though. He’s focused on Sam right now — just hugging him and holding his hand, not pressuring him to talk or trying to do anything else. His heart is steady, like Castiel’s was in the dream.

It really does feel like Cas was just here. Sam misses him desperately all over again, and not even Dean’s arms around him can soothe that feeling. Had he been starting to think that he could live without Cas? Was that why he had the dream, to remind him that he couldn’t?  


* * *

  
Sam is struggling again. For awhile it seemed like he was coping better with his loss with Dean to comfort him, but he’s slipped back into not bothering to shave or brush his hair, and he spends most days sitting around with some item of Castiel’s held close. 

It’s been a month since Cas’s funeral. Dean doesn’t know what to do.

He’s done his best to continue caring for his brother, but Sam seems to be putting some distance between them, too. At first Dean figures it’s unintentional. Sam is grieving — he said he’d do his best to think of Dean, too, but Dean can’t blame him if he’s wrapped up in his own little world. 

Then one night Sam doesn’t come to bed.

Usually they sort of meet in the hallway, both on the way to Dean’s bedroom, and it’s an unspoken understanding that they’ll be sleeping in Dean’s bed. Tonight, Dean walks there alone. Maybe Sam’s just taking a little longer to go to bed tonight, he thinks, and crawls under the blankets to wait.

Fifteen minutes pass. Sam doesn’t show up. 

Dean hasn’t fallen asleep, of course. He’s laying there in the dark, looking up at the ceiling and worrying about his brother. Maybe he’s in the bathroom. Maybe he didn’t notice how late it is.

After half an hour, Dean can’t talk down the gnawing worries that Sam has been slipping into despair again, and might have hurt himself or worse. He kicks the blankets off and goes out into the hallway.

Sam isn’t there, of course. Calling for him seems wrong, somehow. Dean’s worried, but he doesn’t want Sam to KNOW he’s worried if Sam’s just lost track of time or something.

Instead of yelling his name, Dean goes to Sam’s room and peeks inside. Sam has been spending more time in there again in the past week, going over Castiel’s things that he moved in when he and Sam officially got together. Dean’s caught his brother gently running his fingers over Cas’s phone, or gazing at some unimportant note the angel had scribbled onto a crumpled piece of paper. One time Sam was just sitting there on the floor, Cas’s old blue tie cradled in his palms and against his chest like a living thing. Like a kitten or other comforting little creature. 

Sam isn’t in his room now, though.

Alarm wins out, and Dean rushes back into the hallway.

“Sam!” He calls, wondering which other room to check. The library? The kitchen? Sam hasn’t been reading much, or eating much without Dean sticking a plate under his nose. Really, mostly he’s just been sitting in his room with his memories of Cas.

To his great relief, Sam comes shuffling out of the library, rubbing at his eyes and yawning. He must have fallen asleep in there.

“There you are,” Dean says, hurrying over to wrap his brother in a hug. He’s okay, he’s here and he’s okay. He sits back enough to press soft kisses to Sam’s cheeks, murmuring, “Got worried when you didn’t come to bed.”

Sam doesn’t shy away from the kisses, but he doesn’t feel entirely relaxed in Dean’s arms, either. And he doesn’t hug back. Realizing this, Dean lets go of him and sits back to get a good look at his face.

The guilt in Sam’s eyes hurts.

“Sorry,” he whispers, avoiding Dean’s gaze. His brows are furrowed low, and he looks so sad that Dean feels responsible. If he was better at comforting Sam, Sam wouldn’t be so sad. If he was actually enough to do that, Sam wouldn’t be slipping back down into this darkness again.

He cups Sam’s face with his hand, strokes his cheek with his thumb, and forces a smile.

“It’s okay, Sammy.” Sam looks at the floor at their feet and nods a tiny bit. He looks so tired and hurt. Dean can hardly stand it. “I mean it, it’s okay,” he repeats, patting his brother’s cheek and stepping back from him. “If you don’t wanna come to bed with me. It’s okay.” He’s not sure what he’ll do if Sam confirms it, but from the lack of a hug or kiss back, that’s what he expects that it is. Going to bed together is the only thing he’s found so far that comforts Sam and lets him sleep — he doesn’t know how else to help.

Sam does look him in the eye, then, and the guilt threatens to overflow as tears.

“It’s not that,” he says, choked. “I-I want to.” Dean nods in understanding, even though he doesn’t understand at all. Sam steps closer, and Dean instinctively reaches for him again, runs hands through his hair and down the sides of his neck. Sam closes his eyes, and the touch is visibly soothing for him. It’s not that he’s avoiding Dean, then. 

So what is it?

“I’m always here, right here,” he promises, resting his forehead against Sam’s. His brother’s keeping his eyes closed. Dean, in turn, keeps both hands resting protectively against his neck. “What do you need, Sam? If it’s something I can do, then I’ll do it.” 

He means it, too. Maybe he’s had it backward — maybe Sam wants more from him. Does he want sex? That’s going further out of Dean’s comfort zone than he planned, but he’ll still do it if Sam needs it. He knows he’s not really who Sam wants, but if it’ll help him…

Sam’s looking at him, he realizes. At some point while Dean was thinking, his brother opened his eyes, and now the hazel gaze is set on Dean, full of guilt and want. Maybe he does want more from Dean.

“If there’s anything you want to do with me,” Dean clarifies, meeting that gaze head-on, “Then go ahead.” He still means every word. He’s not sure he can imagine his brother taking him up on that offer, but if he does, Dean’s ready to go through with it. He wishes Cas was here, though. What Sam really needs is Cas.

Sam looks stunned, though. He searches Dean’s eyes for any hint of hesitation, finds none, and quickly shakes his head. Dean feels both relieved and good for nothing, and Sam sees it instantly. He wraps his arms around Dean suddenly, hugging him tightly.

“It’s not anything you’re doing wrong, Dean,” he says, voice cracking. “Or…or NOT doing.”

Dean holds him, rubbing his back, and lets out a slow sigh. He wishes he could believe what Sam’s saying.

“Okay,” he says simply. Whether Sam wants to share anything else, whether he wants to come to bed or not, that’s all up to him. Dean just waits.

It takes a couple minutes, but Sam finally sits back enough to look him in the eye again. A few tears have escaped down one cheek. Dean just wants to take that pain away, but he’s helpless.

“I dreamed about him,” Sam admits, taking one of Dean’s hands and holding it tightly. “It was so real, Dean. Feels…feels like he was just here.” He shakes his head, drawing a shaking breath, and bites his lip. “Hurts all over again. S-sorry I’ve been so…” He trails off and just shakes his head again, sniffling. 

A sudden calm washes over Dean. The situation hasn’t changed — Sam’s just still grieving. He can still help in some way. He holds tight to Sam’s hand and turns, leading him toward the bedroom.

“Don’t be sorry,” he soothes, “I've got you. C’mon.”

Sam’s still crying, but he follows. As long as he’ll still follow, Dean’s determined to lead him out of the dark, no matter how long it takes.  


* * *

  
Impossibly, Castiel shows up on their doorstep the next morning.


	4. Happy

It looks just like Cas.

“Hello, Sam. Dean,” the figure on their doorstep says, and the low voice with the tattered edges, it SOUNDS just like him, too. The image of the angel is looking mostly at Sam, who Dean stepped in front of the second he saw their visitor. Dean has to hand it to the thing, it’s got Cas’s bright blue eyes and ever-disheveled hair down pat. Every detail of him, the scruff on his chin, the buttons on his trench coat, the crooked knot on his tie, is perfect. 

Perfectly impossible.

“Whatever you are, you picked the wrong face to show up with,” Dean growls, glaring at the thing. It looks back at him with the same dubious frown-and-squint routine Cas ALWAYS did, and considers for a moment. 

“I’m not an impostor, Dean,” the whatever-it-is murmurs, turning its eyes back to Sam. The image of Castiel’s face softens to a regretful one then. “Sam, do you remember when I told you—”

“Don’t,” Sam says, voice wound tight like it might snap. “Don’t talk to me like you’re him.”

The Castiel lookalike gets a determined expression, setting its jaw, and turns back to Dean.

“Test me.”

Dean scowls at it.

“He’s dead,” he says flatly. “There’s zero chance you’re Cas.”

Something about the fond look in the thing’s blue eyes makes Dean’s heart ache. It really does look like his best friend, both exasperated and proud of him for standing strong. 

“Whatever test you want, I’ll submit to it,” the false angel says. “I know it seems impossible. I WAS dead, I was in the Empty, but I got out.”

“And came back,” Dean says sarcastically. “We burned Cas’s body. You’re saying he just strolled out of the Empty and made a new one? Bullshit.”

The thing looks almost sheepish now.

“I may have annoyed the cosmic being that watches over the Empty so much that it sent me back,” “Cas” explains. “It must have even made me a new body to send me back to.”

Dean wishes he could believe it. It seems so much like Cas, moves and speaks just like him, behaves like him. It’s just like Cas to stubborn his way out of friggin’ DEATH. Escape from the Empty is impossible, though. 

Isn’t it?

“Test me,” the thing says again, pleadingly this time. “I fought so hard to return to you…to Sam.” It directs sad blue eyes at Sam again, and Dean wavers. “I’ll do anything.”

“Dean,” Sam begins, stepping up beside him. He looks about ready to start pleading, too. Dean’s instincts say that it’s Castiel, but reason says that that can’t be true. Still, if he’ll really do anything to bring Cas back for Sam, here’s his chance.

Then again, it could be a brain-eating monster, or a spirit, or a shapeshifter, or…

“Get in here,” Dean relents, frowning at the image of the angel. If it isn’t him, Dean’s going to kill it for putting Sam through this.  


* * *

  
It’s really him.

Dean just got through using every single test they have, and it should be impossible, but it’s not. It’s really Cas. 

Sam knew from the moment he met the angel’s eyes that it was Cas. He thought it was desperate wishful thinking, though, and let Dean take the lead on things. Now, as his brother shoves the last of the test supplies aside, Sam feels frozen. He can’t decide whether to laugh or cry. 

Dean wraps Cas in a tight hug, and it becomes real for Sam, sinks in. The past month is like some surreal nightmare he’s drifted through. There was never any abrupt cut-off to their relationship, nothing to feel so broken and empty about after all. He wishes he could tell himself yesterday what he knows now: Cas will be back, IS back, and everything’s going to be okay.

“Go on, get ‘em.” Dean’s words draw Sam’s attention, and he sees his brother gesturing from Cas over to him with a slightly tearful little grin. The nightmare’s over for Dean, too. Dean has tried so hard to help him cope, and now Cas is back so he doesn’t have to do it anymore. He can be happy again, too. He can be happy for them, like they were before.

Castiel is standing in front of him, reaching to touch his face.

“Sam…” The sight of him is blurring slightly with Sam’s tears. His chest hurts, there’s a lump in his throat, and having Cas right here is just underscoring how awful it’s been without him. Suddenly it’s not just joy Sam feels. Abruptly, he’s terrified he’ll wake up and be back in the nightmare. 

Still, he steps forward and slides his arms around Cas, hugging him so tight to his chest that it’s a good thing angels don’t really need to breathe. 

At least if he wakes up, this time he’ll hold his angel one more time first. 

He’s waiting for the moment when he blinks and he’s in bed in the dark, Dean pressing closer to hold him and tell him he’s right there. It happened last night, it could happen again.

Instead of slipping away, Cas is hugging him back, though. His fingers are running over Sam’s back and sides, and when Sam opens his eyes again, he sees the angel’s messy dark hair where he’s resting his head on Sam’s shoulder.

“I love you, Sam,” he’s whispering. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get here sooner, I’m so sorry…”

Sam never wants to let him go, but he loosens up the tight embrace enough to sit back and catch Castiel’s gaze. Clear blue eyes gaze up at him, filled with love and remorse.

“I tried to speak to you in your dreams, but I’m afraid you thought it was just a wish.”

Sam can’t help smiling through his tears.

“Th-that was you?”

“It was,” Cas admits, looking sheepish. He runs his thumbs gently over Sam’s cheeks, wiping away the tears. Sam is so happy he’s shaking. It’s real. Cas is real.

He grabs one of Cas’s hands from against his cheek and pulls it down to kiss it. 

“Yeah, I-I thought it was just me.” He’s still tearful, but he can’t stop smiling. When the angel opens his mouth to reply, Sam shushes him with a soft kiss. And it’s real, too — Cas’s mouth is soft, and he always forgets whatever he was about to say to kiss Sam back. Like nothing matters more than him. 

When he draws back from the kiss, Castiel looks up at him like he’s the sun chasing away a storm, and he smiles. 

Sam smiles, too.

“Cas, I missed you so much.”

“Understatement,” Dean comments, reminding them that he’s there, too. He’s scooping up the supplies from the table and sticking them back onto the shelves where he got them from. 

Sam pulls Cas a little closer, instinctively equating Dean with waking up. With loss and grief. He feels awful for that knee-jerk reaction, though. They’re still standing in the kitchen, and it’s not Dean’s fault Sam couldn’t function for the past month.

“I didn’t plan to die, Dean, it was just my only option,” Cas replies dryly. The angel keeps both hands on Sam’s waist. Sam wonders if Cas ever thought that he’d stay in the Empty forever. Did he grieve, too? 

And Dean — is it weird for Dean to watch him kiss Cas now? Sam has done it countless times before, but he’d never kissed his brother back then.

Like he’s replying to Sam’s thoughts, Dean waves a hand dismissively. He’s still talking to Cas, of course.

“You mean you didn’t plan to be such a pain in the ass that the Empty couldn’t contain you? I don’t know if I believe that.” He turns to them both and smiles. “I DO believe this calls for a beer. Let’s drink to you, Cas. Good to have you back, buddy.”

Castiel smiles again, and Sam can’t take his eyes off of him. Everything’s going to be okay.  


* * *

  
“To Cas.” Dean holds his beer bottle out for the others to toast. His brother and his best friend are happy to do it, even though he must have done it five times by now. They’ve had a couple of beers each, and the fact that Cas is here and alive and okay keeps hitting Dean in the face again and again. 

He’s wondered uneasily a time or two if he’s just dreaming. Sam looks so happy — Dean hasn’t seen him this happy in forever. Castiel looks perfect, not a scratch on him, and he keeps gazing up at Sam like he’s the most important thing in the world. Dean can tell that Sam’s bracing himself, too, like he might wake up and this will all be taken away from them. It’s hard to let themselves relax and believe it, after the weeks of grief.

Catching the brothers exchanging a slightly worried look again, Castiel asks suddenly, “How long was I gone?”

He doesn’t know that? 

Dean looks at Sam, whose expression is instantly shadowed over with sadness. He does his best to smile and ignore it, but it’s easy to see he’s remembering the same kinds of things that Dean is. Dean’s impulse is to reach and touch him, maybe hug him, but that’s Cas’s job again. Right?

“A month,” Dean tells Cas, looking down at the half-empty beer bottle in his hands. He sighs. “It’s been a rough time without you, buddy.”

Cas blinks and then promptly turns to Sam, touching his face, staring up at him as realization dawns.

“Oh, Sam…” 

Sam takes his hand and moves it to kiss it, smiling past the tears shining in his eyes.

“I was a mess,” he admits. “I-it’s okay now, though. You’re here and it’s over.”

It really is over. The grief, the misery, they can put it behind them. Seeing Cas with his brother again, Dean knows that whatever he and Sam had started to explore, it’s over, too.

Abruptly, he gets to his feet, plunking the beer bottle down on the table. Sam and Cas both turn to look at him.

“Speaking of over, it’s been a hell of a day,” Dean says, trying to sound casual. He smiles at them warmly. “Think I’ll go crash. Cas, it’s great to have you back. I know I keep saying that, but…well, it’s just great.” He runs his fingers through his hair, gaze drifting from his friend’s smile to Sam’s hazel eyes watching him uncertainly. 

Cas is back, it’s time to go back to how things are supposed to be. Dean gives his brother a reassuring smile. It’s okay, he wants to say. Go be with Cas, you’re happy with Cas.

“Good night, Dean.” Castiel says, and Sam joins in wishing him a good night. Dean smiles at them both one more time before he heads out to the hallway and makes his way to his room.

It feels a little odd to go to bed alone, like he’s forgetting something important. He has to remind himself that Sam isn’t alone, too. Sam is with Cas. 

The bed feels emptier than it has in a long time. Dean lays there and hugs a pillow, looking up at the ceiling in the dark. Yesterday he would’ve given anything to help Sam be okay — his body, his life, anything. Today Sam doesn’t need anything from him. And he should be happy about that. It’s selfish to be anything but happy, right?

He feels selfish. 

It’s good that Dean never wanted to replace Cas, because he can see now how impossible that would have been. He gave Sam what comfort he could while Cas was gone, but Cas is back now, and he can make Sam happy better than Dean ever could.

This is what they all want, to be back exactly as they were before. Sam never wanted to kiss Dean or be this close to him before Cas died. Dean is ashamed of himself for already missing those things, when they were signs that Sam was heartbroken and miserable.

It’s just habit, and he’ll get used to being alone again, he tells himself, hugging the pillow tighter. It still smells like Sam’s hair from when they slept together the night before, and Dean buries his face in the soft fabric and breathes as slow and steady as he can. As long as Sam is happy, that’s all that matters. He’ll still do anything for that, even if it means not kissing anymore, not holding him at night anymore. 

He doesn’t resent Cas. He got his best friend back today. Sam got back the person that makes him happiest. That should make Dean happy, too.

He still feels selfish.  


* * *

  
They don’t even have sex. Sam had thought maybe they would, flirted with Cas all evening, and when they fall into the bed together, he kisses the angel like he means it. At some point, though, the little laughs and hums of pleasure turn to tears. It’s all just so much, and Sam thought he would never have this again. One minute he’s kissing Cas down into the pillow, the next he’s dissolving into wrenching sobs into his chest.

He’d almost convinced himself he could have said goodbye, but just this little time they’ve had again destroys that illusion. He needs Cas — he needs Cas so much it’s daunting to think he’s survived a whole month without him, even with Dean’s help.

Dean… 

Sam thought he might say something when they went to bed, but his brother had just smiled and said good night like he always did before Cas was gone. That relief Sam felt at kissing him is a pinch now, a little prickling reminder that apparently Dean is fine with just going back to how they’d been before.

It hurts. It shouldn’t hurt — Sam has Cas again, and Cas was always enough before. But Sam had never tried anything with Dean before, so it felt less like being abandoned then. He’s sure Dean still loves him, but the closeness, the kisses and touches, that had all been just doing what he had to do to help Sam. 

He shouldn’t be so hurt about this. He should be happier about Cas just being here again. He should be grateful, nothing but grateful, but he’s been so tired and so frayed for so long that he just can’t keep it together.

Castiel hugs him, kissing his hair and murmuring to him in that low, soothing, perfect voice of his. Sam doesn’t really hear the words, just the sound. He could say anything and it would work. It works because it’s him. 

Even that makes Sam guilty, though. Cas shouldn’t have to comfort him. Cas is the one who DIED last month, if anything Sam should be making sure he’s okay. 

After awhile, he’s got no tears left to cry, and they just lay there and hold each other. Sam feels like a traitor, that being held by Cas reminds him of nights spent in Dean’s arms and not the other way around anymore.

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

Cas, meanwhile, is more patient and kind than he deserves. Sam’s throat feels swollen, and he shakes his head into the front of the angel’s shirt, sighing. Like Dean last night, Cas doesn’t push him to talk. He just pulls the blankets up over them and wraps an arm securely around Sam’s shoulders. “Okay. I’m here, Sam. I’ll be here when you wake up,” the angel promises.

Sam scoots up to kiss him and tell him he loves him yet again. The smile in return is so warm that he instantly feels a little better, and manages to smile back. They curl around each other and Sam closes his eyes. He can feel Castiel’s heart beating steady.

It’ll get easier tomorrow, Sam tells himself. Sam won’t kiss his brother good morning like he was just starting to do each day. Dean won’t find him and just pull him into a hug whenever he seems to need it. Sam won’t be mourning anyone, or anything, and his heart won’t feel so heavy.

And Castiel will be there in the morning, just like he promised. Sam’s angel will get dressed with him, or maybe make it tough for Sam to dress by pulling him back to bed for a few more minutes. They’ll hold hands and walk to the kitchen, and Dean will be there with a pot of coffee and a pile of pancakes — the thing he always makes when there’s something to celebrate.

And they’ll be happy again.

It’ll get easier. Dean doesn’t have to know Sam will miss what they had, and Cas doesn’t have to know that they had anything at all.


	5. Normal

Sam wakes slowly, fading pages of dreams scattering through his mind. He’s wrapped in strong arms, his nose pressed into the side of Castiel’s neck. 

Cas?

It’s him. Sam’s half laying on top of his chest, and the scent and feel of him are unmistakable. Memories of the day before wash over Sam. He’s startled at himself.

He’d expected to wake up to Dean.

For weeks, he’s been dreaming of Cas, being with him just like this, and each time he’s awakened feeling more and more helpless. Cas always just slips away from him, replaced by darkness and by Dean. Sam remembers that Cas returned yesterday, but he’s still scared that he could vanish. He’s afraid to even move.

“Sam?” Cas’s voice is raspy when he whispers. Up against Sam’s ear, it’s shiver-worthy. The angel kisses his temple, and his lips are warm. “Are you holding your breath?”

It’s true, Sam is. He exhales slowly, moving a hand up to rest on top of Cas’s head. Just to reassure himself that this is real. Cas responds by holding him closer to his chest, nuzzling his face against Sam’s hair.

“I’m here, Sam.”

He is. He’s really here. Sam sits up enough to get a good look at his face. Clear blue eyes meet his, and Cas doesn’t smile, just gazes up at him.

“Are you okay?”

Sam bites his lip and pulls away from him, sitting on the edge of the bed. Sam’s dreamed of waking up to Castiel the whole time he’s gone, but now that he’s back, Sam wakes up thinking of Dean first. Is he really that fickle?

The bed creaks, and then there are hands on his waist. Cas feels solid against his back, both arms slipping around him.

“Sam.” His breath is warm on Sam’s shoulder. “It’s perfectly reasonable not to be.”

Sam places his hands over the angel’s. He wants to close his eyes and enjoy the embrace, but right now seeing the dim bedroom with his boots dropped on the floor is grounding him. It’s imperfect and real. They went to bed mostly dressed. Right, he’d broken down crying. Cas must think he’s still upset this morning.

He never meant to put that on Cas.

“I’m okay,” he promises, breaking out of the hug enough to turn and hug Cas back. The slightly guilty look on the angel’s face bothers him. Cas came back from the dead to return to him, and all Sam should be is overjoyed. It’s complicated, though, especially with Dean…

There is no reason to still be thinking about Dean like this. It’s done and over.

Cas knows how he feels about Dean, but not that he’s ever acted on it. Would knowing how Dean is writing it off — and making Sam feel hurt — divide him and Cas? Sam doesn’t want that. Dean’s been suffering the loss of his best friend, too, he’s just been pushing it aside to help take care of Sam. 

It’s not his fault Sam’s feelings run deeper than his. It’s not his fault Sam has carried this around and hidden it for so many years. It IS his choice not to take things any further, and Sam has Castiel again — how can he be selfish enough to want Dean, too?

No, it’s better just to consider it done.

Sighing, Sam leans and kisses Castiel’s hair. He manages a small smile.

“I need to shower.”

When he steps off of the bed, the angel follows. Of course he does — not long ago they did everything together. And they want to go back to normal, right?

Sam fidgets with the buttons on his flannel shirt, though, keeping his back to the angel and the door. He’s been beside himself for weeks, thinking about how he’ll never do this or that with Cas again, and now that he has the chance, suddenly he’s unsure.

Cas helps pull the sleeves down off of his arms, and Sam shivers. There’s dread in the pit of his stomach. After Dean, it feels like Sam has been cheating. Like he needs to confess it all to Cas first, before they can do anything more than kiss again.

Still, his heart aches to forget that for awhile when Cas steps closer and brushes his lips along Sam’s bare shoulder.

Nothing really happened with Dean beyond a few kisses. It wasn’t that kind of comforting each other. Sam is sure it would hurt Cas, knowing Sam was sleeping beside and kissing anyone so soon after his death. He wouldn’t want Cas to hide it from him if the situation was reversed, though. 

Would he?

Cas is leaned up against him still, at ease, and Sam hasn’t gotten to touch him in so long. But he can’t do this right now. It’s overwhelming, and it’s not Dean’s fault, and it’s not Cas’s fault, so it has to be Sam’s.

“Cas…” He sighs, wrapping an arm around the angel’s waist. Encouraged, Castiel kisses the side of his neck. It’s warm and tender, and Sam is sure he doesn’t deserve it. He pulls back enough to see the angel’s face, guilt and want clashing in his chest.

“I can’t,” he admits, wishing he could explain himself. What if Cas thinks he doesn’t want him? That couldn’t be further from the truth. “Not…not yet. I’m sorry.” He’s ashamed of himself. Cas came back from the dead to be with him. He deserves to be accepted back with open arms. He deserves someone who isn’t thinking of someone else.

Castiel sits back immediately, nodding.

“It’s okay. I know that this isn’t easy,” he says, sympathetic. Sam takes one of his hands and holds it. 

“I’m sorry,” he says again. Cas looks up at him and squeezes his hand. 

“I love you, Sam. There’s nothing to apologize for.”

Sam drops his gaze quickly, feeling another stab of guilt. Cas so earnestly believes there’s nothing he should be sorry about, believes in HIM.

“Love you, too. It’s just been a rough time,” he whispers. “I’m not…”

“Not in the mood?” Cas tries to get him to smile, leaning into his line of sight. His eyes are so blue, and so sincere it hurts. “I understand, Sam. I’ll be here whenever you are again.”

Sam can’t quite bring himself to smile back, so he just nods.

“I’ll be in the kitchen,” Cas adds, kissing his cheek fondly. “See you there.” 

Sam waits until the door clicks closed before pulling off the rest of his clothes. As understanding as Cas sounds, that felt like a blunder. He should welcome Cas back without hesitation — WANTS to. There’s no excuse for thinking about anything more than platonic with Dean anymore. He needs to put it behind him.  


* * *

  
There’s something to celebrate, so Dean makes pancakes. He brews a big pot of coffee, too, expecting Sam and Cas to take awhile to get themselves to breakfast. That was how it was before, anyway.

It was tough to fall asleep last night without Sam there, but eventually Dean drifted off. Waking up had been even worse. The empty space beside him had rang alarm bells, and he’d jumped out of bed before remembering that Sam was in his own room. 

There’s no reason to worry about Sam now — Cas will take good care of him. 

Besides helping with his grief, Dean’s come to the conclusion that Sam hasn’t needed him in a long time. Since he and Cas got together, they’ve been like two sides of a coin — everything the other needs. It’s obvious how much they need each other by how badly Sam dealt with losing Cas. That makes Dean unnecessary, though. 

And he shouldn’t care — he’s never cared about what happens to him, as long as Sam is safe and happy. So why does it gnaw at him like this? Why can’t he just suck it up and be happy for them?

Sam didn’t agree to any committed relationship with Dean. He’s got no right to resent how easily his brother waved him away and went to bed with Cas last night, especially since Dean encouraged him to. Dean’s not even sure what to call what they were doing — kissing and holding each other isn’t the way brothers should act, but it’s not exactly a full-blown affair, either.

Why is he still thinking about it?

Cas is better than him in just about every way. Not to mention that he’s an ANGEL, and Dean is…he’s Sam’s brother who wants to kiss him. It’s obvious which one is better for Sam.

“Hello, Dean.” Cas’s voice drifts to him from the kitchen doorway, and despite everything, Dean smiles. He really has missed his friend. Friend doesn’t seem like it says enough. Cas is family.

“Hey, good morning.” Dean turns to wave at the angel with the pancake spatula. Cas is dressed exactly how he’s always dressed, in his trench coat and suit and tie. His dark hair is sticking up a little messier than usual, if that’s possible. Dean is surprised that he’s alone, and raises his eyebrows. “Where’s Sam?”

“In the shower,” Cas explains, glancing at the plates with pancakes starting to pile up. He smiles almost wistfully, stepping over to pour some coffee. 

Dean wonders if Sam told the angel about what he and Dean have been up to yet. If he hasn’t, Dean’s not about to mess up the good thing Sam and Cas have going by mentioning something that’s over with.

“I can tell that this has been difficult,” Cas says. “Sam woke from nightmares several times.” A sigh that doubles for blowing steam off of his coffee, and he’s turned his blue eyes on Dean. “Do you have nightmares, too, Dean?”

Thinking back on hugging the pillow that smells like his brother’s hair, Dean wants to bite his lip. Instead he just shakes his head. 

“Nah, I’m good.” He flips the pancakes on the griddle with a nonchalant flourish and sighs, meeting Castiel’s gaze. He’s pretty sure his own is guilty. “Sam really…really missed you, buddy. I’m so damned glad you’re here.”

And he really is. He’s so glad, he doesn’t even try to pretend he doesn’t want to talk about emotional stuff like this. Cas knows him better than that by now. The angel stares back for a long moment, his brows pinching sadly.

“Me, too,” he says finally. “This is where I belong.”

Dean snags the coffee pot and pours himself a mug as well.

“Damn straight.”  


* * *

  
When Sam arrives to the kitchen with damp hair, the sweetness of pancakes and the roasty scent of coffee are mingling and drifting out into the hallway. He knows that Castiel will be in the kitchen, but his heart still jumps at the sight of the tan trench coat and its owner seated at the table. Cas just being there again seems miraculous and surreal. 

The angel is holding a mug of black coffee with both hands. He’s watching Dean pour maple syrup over a plate of pancakes and listening to him talk about the merits of adding chocolate chips to them instead of blueberries. His blue eyes hold genuine fondness for Dean, and there’s the start of a smile teasing at his lips. 

It warms Sam’s heart to see them there and okay, and he’s struck again by how much the past month seems like some nightmare. Still, his heart aches a little.

Dean seems perfectly fine. 

He’s snapped straight back to how he was with Cas before, and when he looks up and sees Sam standing in the doorway, the warm smile and joke about how Sam’s hair routine takes too long don’t seem forced. He’s really okay.

When Sam sits on the bench beside Cas, the angel’s hand goes to rest against the small of his back. It’s both a reassuring touch and a reminder for Cas as well, that Sam is actually there. They’ve all had a rough time lately, Sam reminds himself. It’s not just him who will need a little time to adjust to this again, even though Dean seems to be the one recovering the quickest by far. 

Sam’s trying not to be bitter about that.

Dean really does seem eager to move on and put all of this behind them, though. Once the pancakes are served, he sits back with his coffee and addresses them both.

“We’ve been on the bench too long. I say we find a case and go work it.”

“Cas just got back, Dean,” Sam protests. “Shouldn’t he stay home for a few days?” Inwardly, the alarm bells are already ringing. Cas died working a case. Cas will be in danger if they’re on a hunt, and Sam can’t handle Cas being in danger again so soon. He’s not sure he’ll ever be comfortable with Cas working a case again, after watching him die in front of his eyes. 

“I don’t mind,” Castiel speaks up, eyes bright as he glances between Sam and Dean. He smiles, and adds with such unknowing charm, “I’m home wherever I am with you.” Sam can’t help it — he leans and kisses his angel softly. As always, Cas forgets the time and place and kisses him, too. Somewhere nearby, Dean is clearing his throat loudly. 

Sam sits up, making an awkward little sound and avoiding his brother’s eyes.

“Sorry,” he says, and tries to make it sound sheepish instead of bitter. Dean ought to be happy Sam is kissing Cas. Going back to normal is what he seems to want, after all.

“Anyway,” the subject of his thoughts comments, smirking at Castiel, who is looking a little sheepish now. “I’m not talking stopping another apocalypse. Ghost hunt, maybe. Anything to get us back in the saddle.”

Sam could explain that he’s afraid of Cas getting hurt again — even when facing ghosts, when facing anything — but he doesn’t. Dean’s got a point. They all want to go back to normal. This IS getting back to what they consider normal around here. Cas is more powerful than he looks, and Sam can’t protect him from everything (although he might try.) 

“Easy case,” he tells Cas and his brother, nodding. “I’ll see what I can find.”


	6. Bruises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, surprise, this fic isn't abandoned! I got a little blocked on it for awhile, but managed to get the writing rolling again during NaNoWriMo, so here is chapter 6 at long last. Sorry for the lateness, but better late than never, right?

It only takes an hour or so for Sam to locate a case, and they set out immediately. The destination: a tiny town in South Dakota with a wrecking yard that seems to have a ghost problem. 

The drive has been one of the most laid-back, easygoing trips they’ve gone on in years, and Sam absolutely hates it. They’ve cruised along for hours, blasting Led Zeppelin, and Dean just seems excited and happy to be out on a hunt again.

Is he really that relieved Cas is back? Sam can’t help it — it feels like Dean’s glad he no longer has to do the bed sharing and kissing and cuddling thing anymore. And that’s normal — hell, not even starting that would have been the normal thing, but Dean will do anything for his brother — and Sam is both hurt and guilty that he can’t let it go.

He misses Dean.

He has Cas back, and Cas should be enough, but he isn’t Dean — and Sam is selfish enough to want them both. He’s thought about telling Castiel what happened while he was gone, but the idea of damaging the angel’s friendship with Dean is awful. Hurt as Sam is that Dean seems so relieved, he doesn’t want to do anything terrible in retaliation. He doesn’t want to hurt Dean, he wants to love him.

He’s afraid he won’t be able to help himself, so he hasn’t let himself so much as touch his brother since Castiel returned. Not a hug, not a pat on the shoulder, nothing. Dean hasn’t offered any of those things, either. He seems perfectly happy that way, so maybe he doesn’t long to touch the way that Sam does. They held each other every day for weeks, and now, nothing…

It’s better to focus on the case.

This town has a population of 650, and only one main street. Dean takes Baby along it at a leisurely pace, looking at the little stores and offices along either side.

“It’s almost sunset,” he says, turning off the radio at last and glancing at Sam. There’s that easy little smile, like he hasn’t a care in the world. It stings, but Sam smiles back to play along.

“Yeah, well ghosts are more active at night, so I say we get right to it.” Sam’s been reading the newspapers and other info he could find online on his smartphone during the drive, and they’re pretty sure the ghost in the wrecking yard is Harvey Ealey, a mechanic who was crushed under a tow truck back in the ‘50s. He wasn’t cremated, and his grave is in the tiny graveyard near the town church, so this should be a pretty open and shut case.

“Maybe you two should eat dinner first,” Castiel suggests from the back seat. Sam feels a pang of guilt again. He’d almost forgotten the angel is with them, Cas has been so quiet. Sam is supposed to be enjoying every second of his company, appreciating that it’s a miracle that he’s even here, and instead he’s hung up on this tangled mess with Dean.

“What he said,” Dean agrees fondly, jerking a thumb back at Cas. “Looks like a diner up there on the right. We’ve gotta wait for it to get dark, anyway, right?” He smiles at Sam, who can’t quite make himself smile back this time. Here he is thinking about his feelings for both of them, and he doesn’t deserve either one.

“Fine, I guess we have been driving for hours,” he allows. “Let’s stop for dinner.”  


* * *

  
It all happens so fast. Like any case, nothing goes exactly as planned. The ghost isn’t Harvey, it’s a young woman who was murdered in the back of an old molding camp trailer parked right beside his tow truck. Sam only figures it out from peeling photos of her inside the camper, and by then she’s dragged all three of them into it and is flinging things at them.

Cas can’t be hurt by a ghost, not really. Sam seems to forget this, though — when she sends a curtain rod at the angel like a spear, he throws himself into its path. Dean lunges and swipes the metal out of the air, making it clatter against the floor. Of course Sam’s looking out for Cas — Cas died on their last case together. Good thing Dean’s here to look out for his brother in turn, though.

He’s got just long enough to hear the ghost screeching angrily before something solid and hard hits him square in the chest.

“Oof!” Dean grunts in pain as the camper’s dinette table sends him sliding halfway across the room. He hits back-first against the knobs of the counter, gritting his teeth.

“Dean!” Sam looks like he wants to run over there, but Cas has a hold on his shoulder.

“Sam, the ghost!” 

Dean’s feeling a little faint. The table’s not just pinning him, it’s pressing harder and harder, trying to crush the air out of his lungs. He clutches at the edges with both hands dizzily. At least Cas is here, Cas will make sure Sam’s safe.

They don’t really need him. Could just die here, it wouldn’t change too much…

A blinding flare of orange light hits him, and the pressure abruptly cuts out, the table scraping away from Dean since he’s still shoving at it with both hands. He catches a glimpse of Cas with a hand extended over some item at the other end of the camper, orange flames licking out from under his palm.

“Dean!” Sam hurries over and kneels next to him, hands on his chest, his shoulder. Dean aches with guilt at how much he’s missed that touch. Sam cradles Dean’s face in his hands, propping his chin up. The contact is amazing, like Dean’s been missing a piece and now he’s put back together. “Hey, say something. A-are you okay?”

It’s awful, but Dean wishes he wasn’t. He looks up at his brother, and Sam stares back, searching his eyes. He seems shaken, like he’s actually scared the ghost managed to do some damage. 

As if they have to worry, with Cas there to heal any major wounds up.

Reminded of the angel, Dean realizes that sitting there gazing at Sam might look bad. Turning his face out of Sam’s hands, he puts his arms under him and pushes himself to his feet. It makes him wince, twinges firing through his ribs and chest. He’s lucky his ribs aren’t broken.

“Just a little bruised up. I’m fine,” he tells Sam finally as his brother stands, too. Sam seems to get the message from his gruff tone — he nods a little and keeps his hands to himself again. It’s better he doesn’t know how much Dean wants to be touched, considering how one-sided this apparently is. 

“Cas dealt with the ghost,” Sam says quietly, looking tired. “We’re done.”

“Oh, good,” Dean replies dryly, wincing again. He forces a smile, if only because Sam’s looking concerned about him again. “Let’s go find a motel and crash, then.”  


* * *

  
The motel’s tiny and cheap and has a weird nautical theme even though they’re nowhere near the ocean. Sam keeps stealing glances at Dean as they pile out of the car and head into their room. It seems too small to contain two queen-size beds, and yet that’s the situation.

“You can have the shower first,” Dean tells his brother, ignoring the look on his face that says he wants to protest. This hunt went pretty poorly for such an easy one, but that’s not what’s eating him. He can’t stop thinking about Sam touching him again, and how he didn’t just enjoy it…he was RELIEVED by it. Like not touching had been painful. 

He hates himself for it. Why can’t he just go back to being happy for Sam and Cas? Why does he have to ruin what they have? Cas came back from the dead to be with Sam. How can he do this?

“Dean.” Castiel’s voice tugs him back to the present. Dean blinks, looking up. The shower’s running, so Sam must be in the bathroom. 

And Cas is standing in front of him, looking very serious. Dean feels such a surge of guilt just looking at him that he almost apologizes right then and there. 

“You’re hurt,” the angel says, holding up a hand. “Even if it’s only bruises, I can fix it.”

Dean holds up his hands, quickly shaking his head.

“No no, it’s not worth using your mojo on. Like you said, just a few bruises,” he promises, trying not to cough. His chest actually hurts quite a bit, and he’s pretty sure the “few bruises” cover half of his torso, but if there’s one thing he doesn’t deserve right now, it’s for Cas to use up his grace taking away Dean’s aches and pains. 

The angel’s eyes narrow at him, and he lowers his hand. 

“You and Sam are hiding something. I’ve tried to be patient, but it seems to be upsetting you both. What is it?” Typical Cas, blunt as ever. 

Dean freezes, staring at him. 

“We, uh.” His mind’s going blank. The truth is so guiltily present at the front of his mind that it’s practically screaming at him, begging to roll off of his tongue and be over with already. But that’s selfish, too, isn’t it? He doesn’t want to tell for Sam’s sake, he wants to tell to confess it to Castiel so that it isn’t hanging over his head anymore. He’s disgusted at himself. 

“Dean,” Cas says more gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Sam is hurting, and nothing I do seems to help. Tell me why.”

Dean looks at him, pleading silently and swallowing back tears. He doesn’t want to lie. He thought Sam was okay, though, thought Sam was content to end whatever they’d started, thought Cas gave him everything Dean did and more. And then this hunt, the way his brother had looked at him, and now Castiel saying that he can’t seem to help what’s bothering Sam.

God, does Sam feel the same?

How twisted is that, that Castiel sincerely loves Sam and after a month with Dean instead, Sam can’t just go back to his angel? And it’s Dean’s fault.

“He loves you, Cas,” Dean said hoarsely. “You didn’t see him, when you were dead. He couldn’t even f…function.”

Cas sighs, lowering a guilty gaze to the motel’s cheap carpet. 

“He won’t talk about it, but I…I thought so. But you helped him,” he adds, focusing on Dean again. “Didn’t you, Dean? I know you well enough to know that you would do anything.” 

Dean has to wonder if Sam already told him. Maybe this is Cas giving him a chance to confess. God, his chest hurts. 

“Anything,” he confirms, choked. “Listen, you were gone. Gone for good. I didn’t know what to do, I-I thought I was gonna lose him too.”

The angel nods, taking a slow step closer to him.

“Dean. What did you do?”  


* * *

  
Sam takes his time in the shower, both to get the musty old wrecking yard smell off and to try to untangle his thoughts. He’d thought this thing was one-sided, but the look in Dean’s eyes when Sam touched his face… 

Now he doesn’t know anything for sure. 

If Dean still wants to do more with him, they’re in bigger trouble than Sam thought. Castiel is too smart not to notice that something’s going on. Sam feels like a traitor to both of them for feeling for the other. If Dean isn’t pushing him away, maybe Cas won’t mind, though. He’s mostly been worried that Cas might be angry at Dean on his behalf for Dean ending their…whatever they had…and that it would damage their friendship. 

Cas knows how much Sam loves Dean. He’d support it if that's what Sam and Dean want, and that’s the scariest part. If Sam’s right about how Dean feels, then the only thing standing between them all being happy is him. Him and these feelings of selfishness, that he’s greedy and wants them both when he should be happy with just one. 

There’s no other way to resolve this. He has to swallow his pride and confront Dean, ask for his side of all of this.

Sam dresses as quick as he can, tossing on a long-sleeved henley and some pajama pants, and steps out of the bathroom without even combing his hair first.

“Dean, could we—” 

He cuts himself off, looking at the empty motel room, the door left standing ajar. Dean and Cas are gone.


End file.
